


the feast (aka THAT jonsa scene)

by Authors_Restraint



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Missing Scene, set during 8x04, with a touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 01:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18982585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authors_Restraint/pseuds/Authors_Restraint
Summary: Tormund shoves a horn of ale into Jon's face. “Drink, little crow.”“What?” Jon slurs, half-drunk and adorably happy.“Come on, drink. All of it.”Jon pouts and shakes his head. “No, not in one go.”Sansa smiles at him and pats his knee. “Go on, I believe in you,” she teases.





	the feast (aka THAT jonsa scene)

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea what to call this. it's a rewrite i guess of the jonsa scene? i loved it sm but it needed more so here we are.
> 
> ps: that finale spat in kit harington's face and jon snow's and fuck d&d for thinking they could've made this into the dany/tyrion show and still have it make sense.

Sansa hasn't felt this relaxed and carefree since the night Jon had been crowned King.

 

Oh yes, Petyr had still been alive and his look to her across the room had unsettled her, but she'd been able to hide her displeasure well. It'd been easy enough too, what with Jon looking younger and happier than she'd seen him in. . . _ever_ , if she was being quite honest.

 

The same feeling encompasses her now, but _so much stronger_. It's extremely hard not to gaze at him dreamy eyed. Seven Hells, she hasn't felt this way since she was thirteen. Or since she'd met Ser Loras Tyrell.

 

She purposely ignores the Dragon Queen's presence behind Jon's back and she can't help the feeling of petty vindication that he hasn't made any sort of effort to include her into the revelry he shares with the wildlings and herself.

 

Jon looks so _happy_.

 

His eyes have crow's feet surrounding the corners, his smile is oh so very wide and Sansa remembers that for all her brother's seen and done, he's still very young. Twenty and three, to be exact.

 

Tormund shoves a horn of ale into Jon's face. “Drink, little crow.”

 

“What?” Jon slurs, half-drunk and adorable.

 

“Come on, drink. All of it.”

 

Jon pouts and shakes his head. “No, not in one go.”

 

Sansa smiles at him and pats his knee. “Go on, I believe in you,” she teases. Her hand doesn't leave his knee and Jon rolls his head down to look at her for a moment that goes on longer than it should.

 

“You just want to laugh at me,” he says playfully with narrowed eyes. Sansa raises an eyebrow and cocks her head to the side. “ _Well. . ._ ” she drawls.

 

Jon chuckles.

 

“You need to celebrate, pretty boy!”

 

“Vomiting is _not_ celebrating,” Jon tells Tormund, his hand coming to lay atop Sansa's. She breathes very deeply to stop her heart from racing but she can't help it. She can't help it further when he clasps her fingers within his large hand.

 

“Yes it is,” Tormund replies as if Jon's a child.

 

“You're telling me the infamous White Wolf can't handle a bit of alcohol?” she teases.

 

“Alright, I'll drink _but. . ._ ”

 

“But what?” Sansa tilts her head away from him, her tone wary.

 

“You sing us a song afterward,” Jon's smile is smug and cheeky as if he's won. She draws back surprised. Sing? To be honest, Sansa hasn't sung anything for anyone in quite a while. The last time she did would probably be years ago.

 

Jon's bet has the Free Folk let out a roar of excitement. Sansa glances at Daenerys and Jon's queen looks decidedly unhappy. She presses her lips together to hide her petty smile.

 

Looking back up at Jon, she inclines her head. “Alright.”

 

“You- _what?_ ” Jon splutters. He looks astounded and as if he didn't believe she'd agree. Sansa's not going to pass up the chance to see Jon act the fool, nor is she going to lose this companionship and camaraderie with him. They've barely seen or spoken to each other since he returned.

 

“Your lady's agreed, King Crow! Now drink!”

 

_Your lady._

 

His _lady._

 

Sansa ducks her head down to hide her smile.

 

Tormund called her Jon's lady. Not Daenerys who's looking on at the scene of all of them together, (she looks quite lonely in fact and for a moment Sansa pities her), who's looking at Jon whose back is to her. Jon, whose body is angled towards Sansa from where he's sitting on the table. So much so that should he fall, he'll end up in her lap.

 

Tormund called her Jon's lady.

 

_Her._

 

Sansa.

 

Jon pouts and Tormund curses. He then begins to chant. “Snow! Snow! Snow!”

 

The other Free Folk join in, Ser Davos as well and very soon, they're attracting the attention of the other Lords and Ladies.

 

“Snow! Snow! Snow!”

 

Jon rolls his eyes, grabs the horn and chugs it down, gulping in without taking a breath. Ale runs down the sides of his mouth, soaking his beard. Sansa puts a hand over her mouth and laughs. Jon doesn't stop until he's finished and when he is, the room goes up in cheers.

 

Jon laughs and wipes his mouth, his body swaying. Sansa motions to a maid and when she comes, asks her to bring a rag and a jug of water.

 

“Come here,” she croons teasingly.

 

Jon tumbles off the table, laughing and giggling like a loon, making the Free Folk laugh louder. He all but falls into her lap and Sansa _knows_ that she's a bit drunk herself because their behaviour is completely inappropriate for their sibling relationship, and she doesn't _care_.

 

Daenerys watches them, her polite smile getting tighter at the corners, and her eyes colder and crazier as the moment drags on. It should worry her, but it doesn't. She's at home and she' safe. Daenerys can't do anything to her without risking Jon's ire. She loves Sansa's brother too much. At least Sansa hopes she does.

 

“Someone get him a chair, please,” Sansa implores with a soft laugh, her hand on Jon's head. It's perched in her lap and he's giggling like a bumbling fool. It's absolutely adorable. Even more when he slurs, “ _San-za_.”

 

Ser Davos pushes a chair next to Sansa and hauls his lord up onto the seat by his arms. Jon tips head back and continues giggling like the ceiling is the funniest thing he's ever seen. Sansa is incredibly amused. The maid comes by with the rag and water and moves to see to Jon but Sansa waves her off. She can do that herself.

 

If anyone asks, she's just being a good sister.

 

She soaks the rag, and perching on the armrest of Jon's chair, presses the wet cloth to his forehead. Jon sighs dreamily and closes his eyes.

 

“You've got to sing now,” he slurs.

 

“I do believe that that _was_ part of the bet, milady. Milord is right.”

 

Sansa scoffs but acquiesces. “Alright then, what shall I sing?”

 

“The Bear and The Maiden Fair!” Ser Jaime pipes up from the lower tables. Tyrion's sitting next to his brother, and he's grinning just as much as him. Sansa wrinkles her nose.

 

“The Winter Rose!”

 

One by one suggestions ring through the air and Sansa looks over Jon's lolling head to see the Dragon Queen staring right at her. Contempt, annoyance and . . . _envy_ pours from her violet-blue eyes and Sansa keeps her gaze.

 

“I've got one!”

 

“No one wants to hear about the time ye fucked a bear, Tormund,” Jon drawls. Sansa laughs and drags the rag over his forehead again. She can only imagine the picture she and Jon make but . . . it's not like it matters. They're siblings and she's sure that people have figured out that he and Daenerys are . . .

 

 _No_. She'll not think of that. She won't ruin her good mood with thoughts of Jon's lover. No matter their 'relationship', Jon's chosen to spend his time with her and his friends. He could've included his queen but he didn't.

 

“Aemon the Drgaonknight,” Jon says lowly, but they all hear him. “It was your favourite when we were children.”

 

Sansa can't help that she's speechless. He remembers that?

 

“It still is,” she says softly. Even more when Aemon reminds her of Jon. She can't help but admire his boldness. A song of a tragic love between brother and sister? He's _brave._

 

“Bah! Who wants to hear about some Southern shit!”

 

Sansa shoots Tormund a glare, as if to remind him that the last member of Aemon the Dragonknight's house sits not too far from Jon. But then again, it's not as if Tormund will _care._

 

“I do,” Jon drawls. “I won the bet. Sanza's gonna sing what _I_ want.” His voice is low and slurred and it shouldn't be immensely attractive to her but it _is_.

 

“I'm afraid my lord is right, Tormund.”

 

Ser Davos smiles hen motions to the musicians who string up the tunes. The Great Hall gets unnervingly quiet but Sansa pays it no mind as she begins to sing.

 

She sings the song of the brave knight and his doomed love for his sister and the Targaryen king who kept them apart, all the while trying to keep her voice from faltering. It is too much and hits too close to home. She feels incredibly exposed and as if everyone can see the base feelings she herself has.

 

Being perched on the arm of Jon's chair doesn't help matter either. She doesn't dare look in the direction of the Lannister brothers. Nor does she look at Jon's queen. She barely looks at Jon herself.

 

Why did he pick this song she wonders? _Why?_ He must know what the lyrics are. He must know what kind of gossip and questions it will spout.

 

Sansa's voice gets softer as it comes to a close and she can't help but feel Naerys' pain as she sings the last verse.

 

The musicians stop their playing and The Great Hall is silent. It is a reverent silence until Tormund claps loudly in appreciation. Soon everyone else joins him and Sansa thanks them with a bashful smile.

 

“That was beautiful, Sanza,” Jon rumbles, a dreamy smile on his lips. The cold rag seems to helping him. “Thank you.”

 

“You're welcome.”

The sound of a chair being pushed loudly reaches her ears. She turns her head and sees Daenerys has risen to her feet. Pursing her lips, Sansa stands as well out of respect. Her hand goes to Jon's shoulder but surely the queen doesn't expect Jon to stand when he can barely lift his head?

 

Who is Sansa kidding. Of _course_ she is.

 

“I thank you all for the festivities but I think that I will retire for the night.”

 

Sansa purses her lips into an approximation of a smile and curtsies respectfully. The Dragon Queen looks at her, violet eyes cold and hateful, then glances at Jon slumped in his chair, too drunk to even care what a social disrespect he's showing. She doesn't blame him, though.

 

Sansa doesn't stop herself when she shifts closer to his chair protectively. Her hand never leaves his shoulder.

 

Daenerys smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes, and then she leaves.

 

When the queen's finally out of sight, Sansa returns to her perch on the arm of Jon's seat, foregoing her own chair. She motions to their people to continue with their revelry and smiles when they do. She lifts her head and catches Tyrion staring at her, at her and Jon, apprehensively. Sansa presses her lips together and doesn't move her gaze.

 

Let him look. Let him see how protective she is of her brother.

 

“How bad is it?”

 

Sansa flits her head down to look at Jon. “What?”

 

“How upset did she look?”

 

How can he be so drunk and yet still so observant? Sansa frowns when she registers the reasoning behind his question. Daenerys may be a queen, but she's also Jon's lover. Her being upset is obviously going to bother him.

 

_You didn't care about her while you were here drinking and laughing with me. Why do you care now?_

 

Stop it.

 

She must be silent for quite some time because Jon pats her arm. “That bad, then.”

 

He sighs, then pushes himself up.

 

“Where are you going?” she curses the pitiful needy tone in her voice.

 

“Dany doesn't like it when I leave her alone for too long.”

 

 _Dany._ Dany. _He calls her_ Dany.

 

That part of her that isn't bristling at his – sweet, to be honest – pet name for his queen, frowns at the way Jon speaks. He says it as if the woman owns him.

 

_But she does, doesn't she?_

 

“Jon, you can barely lift your head. Stay a bit longer. Sober up and then go. You'll only make a fool of yourself.”

 

“Mmm, I thought ye like it when I do that,” he slurs. And no, Sansa will in no way admit that that makes her shiver.

 

_At all._

 

She ducks her head down to hide her blush. “Yes but not at the cost of you falling and hitting your head. Honestly, why don't you just go lie down? I'm sure the queen won't die of missing your company.”

 

Something flickers on his face. Some strange expression she can't decipher.

 

“I make her happy, Sansa,” he says softly after a few moment. It's the most sober he's sounded. There's something sad in his voice too. “Things run better when she's happy.”

 

Sansa's eyebrows furrow. What does he mean by-

 

Can Daenerys be-

 

 _No._ Jon wouldn't. He wouldn't be.

 

She looks at her brother who's tiped his head back and begun to giggle to himself. “She likes pretty things. Pretty things make her happy. And I'm a pretty thing.”

 

Sansa purses her lips and blinks back the tears. _Oh gods, Jon._ She knows that he would never reveal such to her if he weren't so inebriated.

 

“Jon-”

 

“I think I need to go lay down. Room's spinnin',” he slurs. Sansa nods and motions to a Northern guard. She asks him to ensure that his lord gets to his room safely. Jon presses a smacking kiss to her forehead and giggles “Night, Sanza.”

 

She can't even reply to him save for a touch to his dark head. Thoughts are running a mile a minute and when she gets the realization, she swallows thickly.

 

_The most heroic thing we can do is look the truth in the face._

_Sometimes, when I'm trying to understand a person's motives, I play a little game. I assume the worst possible reason first._

 

What's the worst reason why Jon says what he does about his relationship with the queen?

 

Sansa takes a deep gulp of wine and tries not to choke when she finds it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out on tumblr @mycrazyfangirl21


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